


Guardians

by soongtypeprincess



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Crowley taking his wedding vows quite seriously, Discreet Smitings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Married Life, References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:41:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23577091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soongtypeprincess/pseuds/soongtypeprincess
Summary: "...you never stopped being a Guardian. In my opinion, it sounds miles better than Principality.” Aziraphale tells Crowley about an incident that occurred while he was out shopping.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 80





	1. Random Acts

**Author's Note:**

> While this work is tagged at "Implied Homophobia", there are no homophobic slurs within this three-part fic. 
> 
> I do not own the Good Omens characters.

Aziraphale tucked the large paper sack into the crook of his arm before knocking on the door. 

Crowley opened it and put a hand on his hip as he grinned.

“Been married a month and you still knock?”

Aziraphale blinked and shook his head. “Oh...sorry, dear. Force of habit.”

Crowley laughed. “I’m teasing you, angel. Get in here.” He leaned in for a kiss but Aziraphale moved past without looking at him.

“You alright, love?” he asked, following him to the kitchen.

Aziraphale whirled around and forced a smile. “Yes, I’m fine,” he replied softly. He set the bag on the dinner table and unloaded it as he spoke.

"I brought macarons from the bakery that’s near St. James. You know, the one that made our wedding cakes? I didn’t know they had them, but Lacey, one of the owner’s daughters...you know the one? That makes those darling cupcakes?”

Crowley nodded as he smoothed back his hair. It had been much longer at their wedding, but it rested on his shoulders now.

“Well, she learned how to make them in a baking class and--”

“Angel.”

“Anyway, she’s applied to Le Cordon Bleu’s pastry program," Aziraphale continued, his voice wavering slightly. “Isn’t that wonderful? I know she’ll make it in; she’s a very talented young lady. I bought a dozen of her macarons. I know it’s a lot of them, but wait till you see, love; they do look scrummy.”

He carefully placed the pastry box on the table and reached into the bag again.

“Oh, and Gareth, the gentleman at the off-licence, you know. He recommended a new whiskey for us. It’s called Writer’s Tears. Since I own a bookshop, he thought it fitting--”

“Aziraphale.”

He didn’t acknowledge him as he clutched the whiskey bottle to his chest and went to one of the cupboards to retrieve their glasses.

“I’ve been going there for years, you know,” he continued, his voice trembling again. “In fact, I think his grandfather was running it when I first--”

“Angel!”

"What _is_ it ?” he said in a firm tone as he spun around to face him.

Crowley tilted his head and approached him. He took the whiskey bottle and set it on the counter before leaning in and placing the tip of his nose against Aziraphale’s temple.

“You broke the number one rule of my flat," he muttered.

Aziraphale’s eyes burned with tears. “And what is that?”

“A kiss upon entry.”

“Everyone who enters your flat is required to kiss you?”

“No...just the angels that I happened to be married to.”

Aziraphale huffed. “Married to a lot of them, are you?”

“Nah...just one.” He wrapped his arms around him and pressed his lips to his forehead. “The most beautiful one in all of eternity.”  Crowley ran his slender fingers through his husband's hair. “Something happened,” he stated.

Aziraphale nodded.

“Ngk. I could tell the moment you walked in.”

He offered him a seat at the table, and helped him out of his coat to drape it over the chair. He opened the whiskey bottle and poured a generous shot into each glass.

He looked at the label. “‘Pot Still.’ I have no idea what that means, but as long as it gets me seeing snakes, eh? Isn’t that what they used to say, darling?”

Aziraphale softly giggled and wiped his cheek.

Crowley sat in the chair next to him as he handed over his drink. 

“A toast,” he announced.

“To what?”

Crowley smiled. “It's movie night, of course.”

His angel laughed. “Well...what are we watching?”

“ _ Legally Blonde _ .”

“Darling, again?”

“It’s a good movie,” Crowley said. “Okay, fine…” He bit his lip and closed one eye, making a show of thinking just a bit too hard. “Oh! How about  _ Spellbound? _ I know how much you love Gregory Peck.”

"I'll certainly drink to him."

They shared a soft laugh as they clinked their glasses.

“Let's hear it, then,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale hesitated and then took another sip. “Well, I was in the off-licence. Gareth and I were chatting and I told him about that lovely vineyard you and I visited on our honeymoon in Paris. How you surprised me with lunch in their tasting room, and that you had made sure the vineyard was closed for the entire day so that we could have it to ourselves to tour it and take photographs.”

“Bragging, eh? Not very angelic.” Crowley giggled when his husband huffed. “Did Gareth say something to upset you?” 

“Oh no, darling! He’s a lovely man. In fact, he told me that he and his wife went to that same vineyard years ago. No, he didn’t say anything, but...”

He grew quiet and took another sip of whiskey. 

“Go on,” Crowley coaxed him. 

“Well, you know how excitable I am about certain things. I suppose my voice was a bit loud talking about our honeymoon, but I do enjoy talking about it. It was the most wonderful time because I was with you, and…”

His voice wavered again and Crowley took his hand.

“I know, my love,” he said.

Aziraphale smiled as another tear fell. “It was either me or perhaps it’s because strangers like to eavesdrop, but there was this young man, whom I’ve  _ never  _ met, and he started to laugh. Like he had heard a joke.”

Crowley’s ears began to burn.

“Gareth asked if he needed anything. He could see how rude he was being. There was another young man with him and he was laughing, as well.”

Crowley swallowed more whiskey to ease his temperament, and the burning in his ears moved to his chest.

“I ignored them and continued my conversation with Gareth. I asked how his sons were, how they’re doing at university, all that. But those two just wouldn’t leave well enough alone. They kept asking if I  _ really  _ had a husband and who allowed that to happen.”

Whiskey wasn’t strong enough to ease what was boiling inside Crowley now.

“Gareth told them to buy something or leave, but they just continued. Now, granted: I’m no stranger to harassment. I’ve endured it for as long as I can remember.”

“It doesn’t mean you have to sit there and take it.”

Aziraphale cut a glance at him and continued, “I paid for the whiskey and thanked him for the lovely chat and went to the door to leave. One of those boys was just outside the exit and he...well, I’m sure he thought he said it quietly, but I could hear it, clear as day.”

“What did he say, angel?” 

Aziraphale sighed. “He called...I don’t want to repeat it, but I think you know what it is.”

Crowley set down his glass. “He had the  _ audacity-- _ ?”

Aziraphale interrupted him. “Dear, I’ve heard that word many times for many years.”

“What?!"

"Crowley--"

“Tell me you said something back!”

“I didn't want to make a scene,” he told him, wiping his cheeks with the heel of his hand. “I refuse to let humans like him see me upset by their slander. I would never give them the satisfaction!”

“You could’ve done a discreet smiting.”

He removed his hand from Crowley’s and took a handkerchief from his pocket. “Darling, it’s a place of business. A  _ family  _ business! It wasn’t Gareth’s fault.”

He paused and squeezed his handkerchief. “Oh, I hope he doesn’t think I won’t come back.”

He took a moment to take another deep breath and another drink.

“But it wasn’t just the word, dear,” he continued in a strained voice. “I could  _ feel  _ his hatred for me; this person whom I’ve never met! I’ve heard it so many times, you’d think I was used to it, but today...it was different. I was actually nervous when I left the off-licence.”

“They didn’t follow you, did they?” Crowley asked, his voice low.

Aziraphale shook his head. “No, but it's happened before."

“It has?!”

“It was years ago, darling. I was fine. Let’s just say that was the last time I performed a discreet smiting.”

He set his glass next to Crowley’s and folded his hands in his lap.

“I still had errands before coming over, so I tried to put it in the back of my mind. But I kept hearing his voice over and over. I told myself I wouldn’t cry about this; it’s ridiculous being so angry about it!”

“It’s  not  ridiculous, angel. You have every right to be angry! Fuck, I’m cross as all Hell!”

“Another reason I didn’t want to cry,” Aziraphale muttered. “I didn’t want to upset you.”

“Were you not going to tell me, then?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t think it necessary.”

Crowley’s eyes grew wide. “Didn’t think it--I’m your  husband! ”

“I’m sorry, dear.”

Crowley sighed as he put his arm around him and kissed his wet cheek. 

“Don’t apologize, baby. I want you to feel comfortable talking to me, no matter how I react, okay?”

Aziraphale leaned into him.

“You don’t deserve that,” Crowley continued. “That shithead needs to be told as such. Because if no one tells him, then he’ll just keep getting away with it.”

“Oh, Crowley. I just hate feeling like this.”

“Listen. I remember the people you helped over the years. You sheltered outcasts, most of them very young, thrown out of their homes, feeling like they had no one. But you gave them a place to stay, whether it was for a few nights or a few hours. You gave them food and a bed and a friendly ear. I remember the ones that would return during the difficult times and the moment they walked through your door, they were handed a book and a cup of cocoa.”

Crowley caressed his blonde curls. “They thought there was no reason to survive. I sensed it. But you were there to make sure they were cared for, that they  _ did  _ have someone, and that there were people out there just like them, and even going through what  they were going through. So, yes, you have every fucking right to be pissed off.”

Tears streamed down Aziraphale’s cheeks. He hiccuped and wiped his eyes. “I did the best I could,” he whimpered. “Some went home and made it work. Others took to the streets and disappeared. I could have done more.”

Crowley squeezed him, his own eyes brimming with tears.

“You did more than anyone else,” he said.

“I still wonder about them, you know? I just want to know that they’re alright.”

“No matter what, angel, they had  you _. _ You were their sanctuary. You never stopped being a Guardian. In my opinion, it sounds miles better than Principality.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Thank you, darling. It boggles the mind, doesn’t it, though? She wants humans to love one another just as She loves them.  _ All _ of them! After all these centuries, why is the true concept of love so hard to understand? Why is it still so shocking for them?”

Crowley sighed again. “Because that would mean humans would have to be kind. It’s easier for some of them to be cruel, to never listen, to always wrap themselves up in their own beliefs, to stay in their own closed-off world. Look what happened to Jesus when he told them to be kind.”

He cleared his throat and recited, “A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another.”

The angel smiled again. “Was he a friend to you?”

Crowley huffed as he leaned back in his chair. “Maybe  _ he  _ saw it that way. He was a very bright young man, though. Would have gone far in life, too, if not for the whole, you know...Son of God thing. I was at his famous 'Sermon on the Mount.'”

“Were you?"

“Yeah. Where were you?”

“I was called away by Gabriel. Frivolous miracle.”

Crowley smiled. “Oh, dear. What did you do that time?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Apparently, the Son of God is allowed to turn water into wine, but when a Principality does it--”

Crowley threw back his head and laughed.

“It was a long day!” Aziraphale said. “I was a shepherd then. You try chasing 40 goats up and down sand dunes!” He giggled and wiped his cheeks again. “Thank you, love. For listening.”

“You don’t need to thank me, angel. For  _ anything _ , ever again. I’m your husband. I made a vow to love and protect you, and I intend to keep my word.”

“Lucky me.”

Crowley leaned in and gave him a soft kiss. 

“I’m the lucky one.”

He stood up and grabbed the pastry box. “Come along, sweetheart. Let’s start the movie. Gregory Peck won’t swoon over himself.”

Aziraphale followed him to the den. “Don’t be jealous,” he said. “You’re the only ‘tall, dark, and handsome’ in my life.”


	2. Runaway

Crowley stretched his arms above his head and arched his back as he yawned. He grunted as his joints popped, and his eyes opened when he heard a soft giggle next to him.

He turned and gave his husband a lazy grin.

“Morning, beautiful,” he mumbled, his voice heavy with waning sleep.

“Good morning,” the angel whispered.

Crowley moved closer and lightly kissed his lips. “Been awake long?”

Aziraphale laid his head on his chest. “Not long, love.” He nuzzled into him and sighed. “It’s late. You kept me up all night.”

“One of my best qualities.”

“You wicked thing.”

“Hey, there’s another one.”

Aziraphale lifted his head and grinned as he moved between his husband’s thighs and pressed his lips to his neck.

Crowley gripped his shoulders as he felt soft nibbles along his skin.

“Wicked, _wicked_ thing,” Aziraphale whispered.

His playful scolding made Crowley’s heart thump as he wrapped one of his long legs around his waist.

“Want to go again, angel?” he purred, lifting his hips to grind against him. “I’m a bit sore, but third time’s a charm, eh?”

Aziraphale giggled again. “Later, my love.” He kissed his cheek and slid off the bed.

“Angel...” Crowley playfully whined.

“Oh, don’t sulk. You’ll survive, you insatiable fool.”

“But at what cost?” 

“You’re so dramatic.”

Crowley sat up against the headboard. “Lunch at the Ritz today?”

“Hmm, well…” Aziraphale faltered as he put on his trousers. “Perhaps not. I should sort my finances today.”

“You never had trouble doing that. Takes you ten minutes.” 

“True, but, there’s also inventory and--”

“Don’t you know what you have in your shop by now? It’s not like they move _that_ much, angel.”

“Why don’t we order take-away from the new curry place? The one we went to last week?”

Crowley frowned. “You sure?” 

Aziraphale buttoned his waistcoat. “Yes. That alright?”

“Whatever you want.” He smoothed back his hair and cleared his throat. “S’there a reason you don’t want to go out today?”

Aziraphale bit his lip. “I told you. I have a lot of organizing to do.”

“You sure about that?”

He huffed and pulled up his shirt collar to put on his tie. “I just have too much to do to be out all day, Crowley.”

“Don't give me that, angel. Look, if we see that bastard from yesterday, I’ll sort him out.”

"No you won't," Aziraphale snapped. "I’d like to put it behind me. Besides, I’ve seen how you _sort_ people out, and I don’t want you to get involved.”

Crowley got out of bed and slipped on his black silk pajama bottoms. 

“Some random prick harasses my husband and I can’t get involved?”

“Darling, please. I don’t want to row.” He approached him and they exchanged a quick peck. “I must be off now. I’ll see you at lunch.”

“On one condition.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Yes?”

“Let’s go _out_ to the curry place.” 

“Crowley, I don’t want--”

“ _Please_? And I don’t say that often, angel.”

Aziraphale thought for a moment before rolling his eyes. “All right, fine. But we’re getting dessert to-go.”

\---------------------------

Aziraphale stared at the old monitor as it flickered, and he could hear Crowley’s nagging voice in his head. 

_“Let me get you a laptop, angel. It’s the blessed 21st century, for Someone’s Sake.”_

He had given it some thought, but he only used the computer for bookkeeping purposes. However, his husband had shown him websites like Etsy and eBay, noting their vast collection of antiquarian items, and the idea piqued his interest. But Crowley had spent so much money on their wedding and honeymoon, so he refused the offer of a new computer.

Their wedding was a small affair in the park under a blossoming apple tree that had mysteriously appeared for the occasion; however, they were off the next morning, spending their first three weeks as newlyweds traveling between Paris and Tuscany. Crowley reserved private tours at vineyards in both cities, they dined at Michelin restaurants, and they stayed at luxurious hotels with fantastic views.

It’s not that Aziraphale questioned where the money came from. After all, he was still receiving celestial wages, with a rather generous bonus. He concluded it was on account of the reaction of their respective head offices after their trials at the end of the almost-Apocalypse. Surely, Crowley had received a generous wage increase, as well.

He found it charming that a demon would spend his pay for the purpose of spoiling his new angel husband, so why would Aziraphale resist? He, in turn, was quite good at being spoiled.

But it had been a glorious trip! They hopped on trains and tourist ferries and indulged in local cuisine and, of course, drank plenty of wine. Sometimes, they would spend all day in their hotel room, making love between bottles of champagne. 

Aziraphale put his chin in his hands and sighed. It was talk of his honeymoon yesterday that spurred unwelcome comments and a horrid slur from a stranger. Maybe he should be careful about boasting. Perhaps it was a bit of karma from his pride.

 _Of course not_ , he scolded himself. _You did nothing wrong; you were having a conversation._

He shut off the monitor, smirking at the fact that he barely looked at his accounts. He rose from his desk and walked out of the back room to the main floor of the shop, stopping at the glass case that held his treasured first editions of Wilde.

_“Don't bother yourself with foolish worry, old boy.”_

Aziraphale grinned at the memory of Oscar’s voice, and he gently tapped the glass in response. 

The bell above the door sounded, and two men entered, one wearing a blue collared shirt and black framed glasses, and the other wearing a black t-shirt with a vintage horror movie poster print. They were holding hands until one of them broke the grasp and beamed as he gazed at the shelves in awe. 

“Oh my God,” he said. “This is it. I can’t believe it; it hasn’t changed at all.”

His partner, who was slightly younger with dark hair and light freckles across his nose, grinned as he said, “Well, it looks like it’s been open since Moses crossed the Red Sea.”

“I’ll give you that, but...wow. I can’t believe it’s still here.”

Aziraphale gave them another moment to look around before making his presence known. 

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

The man looking around suddenly gasped when he saw him.

“Mr. Fell!”

Aziraphale was taken aback, but he replied, “Yes, that’s me. My name is on the building, after all.”

The man laughed and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Fell, but I didn’t think you would still be here after all these years. And, wow...you haven’t aged a day.”

He knit his brow. “I’m sorry, but do we know each other?”

The man stepped closer, his smile growing bigger. “It’s been a long time, sir. I’ve grown taller since you last saw me, and you probably don’t remember me, but I used to hide in your horror stacks.” He walked past Aziraphale to one of the shelves. “If I'm remembering correctly, it was--yes! This one here! Oh, my God. Yes, I would come in here and you would let me pile up all the Lovecrafts and Du Mauriers and Mathesons and I would just devour them!”

Aziraphale had a realization and approached his side, squinting at him. “Could you…?” he said, motioning to his glasses.

The man continued to smile as he removed them, his brown eyes teeming with tears.

Aziraphale’s own eyes widened. “Peter? Little Peter Harper?”

Peter nodded as a tear ran down his dark cheek. “Yes! Though not so little anymore.”

Aziraphale embraced him, and Peter squeezed him. 

“My dear boy! Wherever did you go?” He pulled away from him and looked into his still youthful eyes. “Your sister said you had left home. She came here looking for you!”

Peter nodded again and wiped his eyes as his partner joined them. “Yes, sir. I ran off to Edinburgh.”

“Ugh, Edinburgh,” Aziraphale groaned. “Nothing against Scotland, dear, but I spent a bit of time in Edinburgh and let’s just say it wasn’t pleasant. Then again, it was years ago and--oh! Listen to me ramble on! Do you have a moment to catch up, or are you just passing through?”

“We came to Soho just to find this place,” Peter’s partner said. “I think we have time, right, babe?”

Peter pulled him closer and squeezed him to his side. “Mr. Fell, this is Eric, my fiancé.” 

Aziraphale shook his hand. “A pleasure. Oh, my dears! Congratulations! Now, come with me. I’ll put the kettle on; my husband should be here soon. He'll be delighted!”

Peter and Eric followed him to the back room where they were offered a seat on the sofa. 

“Your husband?” Peter asked. “Mr. Crowley, right?”

“Yes, that’s him.”

“How long have you been married?” asked Eric.

“Only a month.”

“A month?" Peter asked. "I thought you two have been married for years!”

Aziraphale laughed. “I know. I could kick myself at how long it took to make it official, but I do feel we’ve been married for centuries!” 

He prepared the electric kettle and produced three wing-handled white mugs and a red mug from a shelf next to the tea canister.

Later, as he served them, the back door creaked open. 

“Angel?” Crowley’s voice called as he came down the short hallway.

“Just in here, darling,” Aziraphale answered.

“Angel?” Eric whispered to Peter. 

Peter grinned. “He's always called him that.”

“That’s bloody adorable.”

Crowley rounded the corner. “Oh, hello there. Didn’t know you had guests.”

He came around to greet them, but stopped short.

“Bloody heavens, it’s Little Peter Harper.”

Peter stood and shook Crowley’s hand, making him chuckle. 

“Well, not as little anymore, I see,” he said. “And this is?”

“Oh, this is Eric, my fiancé.”

“Congratulations! Pleasure, Eric. Pardon the sunglasses; light sensitivity. But now, Little Peter Harper: where’d you run off to?”

Peter sat down again and took a shortbread from the plate in front of him. “Edinburgh, sir.”

“You ran off to Edinburgh at fourteen?” He shrugged. “Well, I guess it was better than your home situation, eh?”

Peter smirked. “Much better, sir. I stayed with my auntie after leaving here.”

Aziraphale handed Crowley his red mug and gave him a peck on the cheek. He sat in his armchair while Crowley sat in the one to his left.

“Hey, look, angel,” Crowley said, pointing to Eric’s shirt. “ _The Wicker Man_. That was our first date.”

Eric smiled. “Seriously?”

“It was _not_ our first date,” Aziraphale corrected him. “We weren’t even together.”

“I picked you up, bought you dinner, and took you to a film. If that’s not a date…”

They shared a laugh and Aziraphale sat up straighter. “Peter, you really are looking well. The last time I saw you...oh, perhaps I shouldn’t say, but--”

“I was strung out,” Peter admitted. “In fact, my last memory of this place was…” He bowed his head and cleared his throat while Eric took his hand. 

“Oh, my dear boy,” Aziraphale sighed. “I’m so sorry. We don’t have to talk about it.”

“No, it’s fine,” he said. “You should know, Mr. Fell." He took a sip of his tea before continuing. "You know, you were the only place I knew that would let me in, and I…” He sniffed as a tear fell down his cheek, and he wiped it away with the heel of his hand. “I just remember shivering so much under that old tartan blanket of yours. I tried to drink the hot cocoa you gave me, but I couldn’t stomach it.”

“You had a fitful sleep that night,” Aziraphale told him. “Tossing and turning and moaning...like you were in pain."

"Withdrawals," Crowley mumbled.

Peter nodded. "The stuff was good enough to numb my body, but as soon as it wore off...it was like a thousand needles pricking my skin. I tried to stop using but...the wave was too good. I'm not proud of it, sirs, and I'm so sorry I brought it into your shop."

"No need to apologize," said Aziraphale. "I'm glad you felt safe here; it's all I ever wanted for you. For _all_ of you that came here." He offered Peter his handkerchief, which he took. "I was worried when I came down in the morning and you were gone, but I thought you were at home until your sister came by looking for you.”

“You were the only ones who tried to look anywhere,” he said, “but I snuck back in the house before the sun came up, and packed what little I had in an old backpack. I had some money saved up in case I wanted to split, so I took the first train out. My auntie called the house when I arrived. My mum told her to keep me up there; ‘set the boy straight,’ she said.”

Eric clicked his tongue as he leaned into his fiancé’s shoulder.

“Sorry, Peter,” Crowley said quietly, taking Aziraphale’s hand.

“Well, Auntie helped me get clean, and it was better for me up there. I finished school, then university. Now, I teach Sociology at Edinburgh College.”

“That’s lovely,” Aziraphale said, smiling. “I’m so proud of you.”

Peter smiled, too. “I came back to Soho to see my sister, but also to see if the old bookshop was still here. I wanted to tell you everything, Mr. Fell. To thank you for letting me hang out here when I was scared to go home, for letting me pore over your collections, but most of all...for listening.

“That’s what I needed the most," he continued. "And, yes, I turned to drugs. I was a stupid teenager, and the drugs made me numb to everything because I felt no one cared about me. But then you took me in that night, and proved me wrong. You sat up with me. I remember opening my eyes every now and then and...there you were...reading from a dusty old book. I remember the smell of the pages as you turned them. I don't quite remember what you were reading, but...I'll never forget what you did for me."

Crowley squeezed Aziraphale's hand as he grinned.

Peter wiped his eyes with the handkerchief. "I was still coming down from the stuff on the train and I knew there was no way I could ever repay for your kindness, but I knew I had to change. I was sick of living with the hatred at home, and then relieving it with drugs. I had to leave London."

He paused and wiped his cheeks free of tears. “You may not know it, Mr. Fell, but you saved my life that night. If it weren't for you, I'd be dead on the street.”

Aziraphale's voice hitched. “I did all I could, Peter."

“You did more than anyone else.”

Aziraphale sniffed and Crowley handed him his handkerchief, one that had been a gift from the angel decades ago. He took the white cloth with a light blue border and dabbed his eyes. 

After a moment of silence, Crowley set down his tea mug. “Why don’t you join us for lunch? Our treat.”

“We don’t want to impose,” said Peter.

“Nonsense!” said Aziraphale. “We’d be delighted to have you. In fact, why don’t we go to The Ritz? Have you ever been?”

Peter and Eric looked at each other in surprise while Crowley grinned.

“I thought you wanted curry today, angel."

“Oh, darling, we can get curry any time. This is a special occasion. Old friends, an engagement, our one month anniversary.”

“One month?” Crowley said, feigning shock. “Seems like centuries.”

Peter laughed. “That’s what I said.”

“Are you sure we can get in?” asked Eric. "I mean...it's _T_ _he Ritz._ "

Crowley chuckled. “There's always a table for us.”

"Isn't there a dress code, though?" Peter asked, looking at his fiancé with a grin. "I don't think they allow ratty t-shirts." 

Eric playfully elbowed him. "Do forgive me," he said in a sarcastic tone. "I had no idea we'd be invited to anywhere fancy today."

"No worries, lads," Crowley said. "We'll head to my flat first. I'm sure I can conjure up a couple of smart jackets for you."


End file.
